


In Sickness

by SumthinClever



Series: Until Death  Do Us Part [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumthinClever/pseuds/SumthinClever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sickness and whining and begging abound, and that's all just from Sherlock! Looks like John is taking care of two babies today. A day in the life of a Holmes-Watson. </p><p>Part 3 of my Johnlock series. Parentlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Random fun fact: part 3 was written before part 2.

In Sickness

" _Joooohhhhnnnnn_!"

It was a low, tortured whine from the direction of the bedroom. John ignored it completely and fussed over the baby he was struggling to feed.

"Oh come on, Theo, please eat for Daddy," John coaxed.

The baby tossed his head this way and that to avoid the spoonful of baby food being allowed entry to his mouth.

" _Jooohhhnnnn_."

The whine was lower this time and John was going to ignore it again until it was followed swiftly by a terrible coughing fit that made the whine more pathetic, more heart-wrenching.

John sighed and rose, leaving Theodore to play with his food more than eating it and went to see his other baby as he fought through a cold.

"What is it now, Sherlock?" John asked when he got to the doorway of their bedroom.

He tried to stay away from Sherlock as much as the consulting detective would allow him. Theo didn't need two sick parents. But Sherlock was not only a terrible patient but incredibly big on physical affection and nearness.

"John, I can't reach my phone," Sherlock said, weakly reaching toward the bedside table where his phone rested, less than two feet out of his immediate reach.

John sighed again and walked over to retrieve Sherlock's phone and hand it to him. He was keeping in contact with Lestrade to consult on a case vicariously. The team at New Scotland Yard had finally had more than enough of him. Sherlock when he was feeling top notch was bad enough; Sherlock when he was feeling ill was…the English language had no word for that level of hell yet. Lestrade had finally had to send him home to an exasperated John.

Sherlock wasn't taking it any better, but he smiled through dry lips and an undoubtedly sore throat to text away happily at the incompetence that was Lestrade's men and their crime solving methods.

"Do you need more soup?" John asked him.

Sherlock made some sound in the back of his throat that was somewhere between the beginning of a snort and a derisive grunt and continued texting. He hadn't even bothered to raise his head to look at John. John understood it. He'd barely eaten the soup John had brought him earlier. It was tea or nothing for Sherlock.

John heard a crash, splat, and giggle from the kitchen and knew Theo had thrown his bowl to the floor. Again. John knew he was sighing more in the last few days than he had in the whole of his life before Sherlock. The first few months after meeting Sherlock…yeah, those had seen vast amounts of John's sharply expelled breaths.

But since they'd adopted Theo and been raising him this last half year, he'd taken on an unhealthy amount, in John's opinion, of Sherlock's personality. He was picky about what he ate. He slept in sporadic bursts and hardly ever at night. His face took on such Sherlockian expressions that John just scowled at one or the other of them or both of them together and they both looked reprimanded.

Luckily Theo had plenty of John at this point, too. His nature in general was very sweet and calm and was a lot more receptive to people than Sherlock was, though he could tire of them quicker than John would have. He had an inquisitive nature and liked all things science. John wasn't sure just whose influence that was. Pure science, that was. Theo had about as much patience for the social sciences as Sherlock did. And that was  _definitely_  Sherlock's fault.

John started to clean up Theo's mess as the baby happily babbled away, pleased at the destruction he'd caused. Again, all Sherlock.

John fed him some mashed carrots, which he preferred, instead of the mashed peas he'd upended onto the floor.

"Jooohhhnnn!" Sherlock called again.

John didn't answer but put a kettle on for tea. That was Sherlock's tea call. Even if Sherlock didn't want it, John  _needed_ it at this point. The day was less than half over.

The rest of it went about the same- Sherlock complaining at least once every half hour about any- and everything. Sherlock whining that John wasn't taking good enough care of him. Sherlock trying to convince John that cuddles were the best way for him to recover quickest. Sherlock begging John to bring Theo into the germ-ridden bedroom so Sherlock could play with him lest he die of boredom.

And all the while Theo played on his blanket on the floor and chattered happily to Sherlock's skull, which John had to thoroughly sanitize before he'd even let their son hold it, and knocked down his blocks whenever John dared to build them up for him.

Sometimes he'd look longingly toward his parents' bedroom, well aware that his Papa was in there and thoroughly unhappy and Theo would make little whiny noises in more than a fair imitation of Sherlock's and John would groan and take him as close as the doorway so Sherlock and Theo could converse with each other about the day's events and the experiments they'd do when John allowed Sherlock out of bed and the brilliant insights that their skull had come up with this time.

Eventually John went through another feeding fiasco with both of his boys and lured a reluctant Theodore into the bath and after three stories and some off key singing that nonetheless tempted Theo to sleep, John settled himself onto the couch with the biggest exhale he'd breathed all day.

"Jooohhhnnnn."

John's head hit his chest. Sherlock could  _not possibly_  want anything else.

"John, I need you," Sherlock whined from their bed.

John inhaled and held the breath for a solid 10 seconds before releasing it and going to see what his husband could possibly want now.

"Come to bed," Sherlock said when John came to the door.

"You know I can't, Sherlock. We can't risk me getting Theo sick," John reminded him. Again.

"You won't. You're perfectly healthy."

"But you're not."

"Exactly. So I need you to come make me feel better."

"How about I draw you a bath?"

"Are you going to join me in it?"

"Sherlock…"

"Please?"

"…."

John had such a hard time denying Sherlock when he said please. He said it so rarely. John tried to encourage its use whenever he could. He sighed. For what had to have been the hundredth time that day alone.

"Fine," he said.

Sherlock smiled in triumph but kept from voicing it. He'd learned awhile ago that such behaviour was usually a back-tracker.

John ran the water and Sherlock swished his way out of their room. Coat or robe, he couldn't help but move in such a way that his clothes billowed around him.

He stripped and John watched that lithe body be revealed before him. He'd seen it bare many times before and yet he never tired of the sight.

Sherlock ushered John into the tub before him and John let Sherlock settle himself against his chest. It was a familiar, welcome weight.

Sherlock lay back and they sat and soaked up the hot water and each other and John felt the muscles in Sherlock melt to butter and heard his breathing ease with the help of the steam. John grabbed the wash cloth and soaped it and rubbed Sherlock down. He washed Sherlock and washed himself until he heard and felt Sherlock fall asleep, the exhaustion of his illness and the day and the comfort of the bath and John behind him finally lulling him to unconsciousness.

John roused Sherlock enough to get him standing and help him dry off and get into bed.

John got a cup of tea and retreated to the couch, though it may have been a wasted effort after that bath. Still, he fervently prayed that he did not feel a funny tickle in his throat come the morning and have to take care of two children while he was sick himself.

He fell into an easy sleep that only grew more comfortable as the night wore on….

John awoke to that familiar weight again. He opened his eyes to find Sherlock lying atop his chest and wondered briefly how he didn't wake up immediately when his husband climbed on top of him. But it was such a normality that he suspected his body found it more strange that his chest had been so light before Sherlock came to him.

When John took his first deep breath of the day and felt an unmistakable sore throat, he closed his eyes and silently cursed. He knew this would happen. He wondered how he could damn Sherlock so often and yet love him so bloody much.

The first sigh of the day escaped John when Theo woke and his cries pierced the silence of the entire street.

John wondered if Mrs. Hudson would mind taking care of three children today….

**Author's Note:**

> I modeled my Theo off of Ollie. For those of you who know who that is, could you see it? For those of you that don't, please get some earl into your lives. Nature and Nurture by earlgreytea68. Oliver Copernicus Watson-Homes is the best baby I have ever seen and I've never read another parentlock because what child could possibly compare? And yet I wrote one. Go figure.


End file.
